Twenty upon Twenty
by Reyavie
Summary: Twenty facts and moments related to those who changed Thedas. History doesn't get it all.
1. The Warden

_Author's note: Twenty facts about those who changed Thedas. Probably more to be added. A small exercise to drive off boredom._

**X**

_Tasha Tabris Guerrin, Warden-Commander and Arlessa of Redcliffe_

**xxxXXXxxxx**

**i.**

The humans come ten days after her eight anniversary. The humans return after her nineteenth, exactly ten days after.

Tasha doesn't know her own age. She stopped counting.

* * *

**ii.**

The first time she saw Teagan, she honestly disliked the man. He was everything she had despised till the moment, someone who had too much power for a mortal's hands. He was a human and not better than anyone else. What right could he have to rule others' lives with that much abandon?

But he had looked at her, _modest and capable and gentle_, and eventually those eyes were her undoing. That day, he showed itself to be the same as her and her burden didn't seem as heavy.

* * *

**iii.**

Soris is a good person. Shianni is a strong person. Maker knows she loves them both. But there were times in which she wanted to tell Soris to stop whining and Shianni to stop making waves. She didn't. It is their freedom to act as they want and not her place to say otherwise.

Though she wished they learned that her silence meant she wished theirs.

* * *

**iv.**

Her mother was a warrior and Tasha admired that in her. But it wasn't what she admired the most. The brown hair brushed every day by the window, the soft steps as she moved around the house, the gentle hand on her shoulder every morning without fail waking her up.

_Good morning, sweetling_.

Tasha admired most of all how her mother was so many things to so many people.

* * *

**v.**

She never liked cooking. She never liked a kitchen. And she most especially hated how Teagan would stare at her, a gaze that was more pleading than a pup's at its mother's side and rope her into the space anyway.

Two months after her marriage, Tasha stands by a side, spoon in her hand as the broth cooks slowly and watches her husband speak.

Inwardly, she thanks the Maker that the darkspawn lack someone as deeply convincing as her man.

* * *

**vi.**

Shianni says she is like a tree, cut at times but keeps growing; always the same but changing every season.

Tasha knows she is a weed, gripping for whatever water so she can survive.

Shianni also says Teagan is like a mabari, faithful and ever there.

That's when Tasha laughs because her cousin truly doesn't know him. If anything, he is the earth underneath her feet, steady, so steady that Tasha feels she can actually look up to the sky without fearing her feet to falter.

* * *

**vii.**

The first time Tasha holds her twins, she is so afraid she will do this wrong, that she will harm them, that she keeps asking herself what possessed to think bloodstained hands such as hers could ever hold something as gentle. Then she sees them sleeping, their tiny hands in hers and that fear changes.

Blood covered hands can protect far better than unstained ones. And her children grow knowing their mother would give her heart and soul for their safety.

* * *

**viii.**

She never loved Alistair that way.

She has no idea why Anora thought otherwise either.

* * *

**ix.**

"You don't have to braid my hair, love."

Her fingers slip under his tresses, carefully smoothing each part before, deftly, twisting them into a single thread.

"You don't have to wait for me to return home every time, husband."

* * *

**x.**

Most Wardens see nothing but torture and duty behind their life. Tasha sees it different. The Wardens are her purpose, her salvation and doom both. She doesn't know what she would have been if she had stayed in the Alienage but she knows she wouldn't chose it even if given the option. The taint on her body allowed her to change the world.

And, she realizes as she watches her children play in the yard, she will do a thousand more forages into the Deep Roads if it means she can walk back to the sunlight where they wait.

* * *

**xi.**

The first fight between the married couple comes from a comment that she, absently, had made about Isolde. It mattered little the links of law which connected them. Tasha just didn't trust the Orlesian woman.

And that's when Teagan takes the woman's side, when he pushes back, when he disagrees and their shouts cloud the castle of Rainesfere to the point where the servants barely touch the floor when passing by. It is not jealousy. It is _not_. It is seeing what is there, the prejudice, the pain, her nephew's hurt eyes and closed countenance.

But Tasha understands this blindness where it comes to family. She does. And the next day, she begs his forgiveness and never raises her voice against his brother and sister in law.

Though she dislikes Isolde still.

* * *

**xii.**

The day she sees Shianni standing on the stage and whispering a confident 'yes' to the Revered Mother's question makes her cry like the girl she once was.

* * *

**xiii**

Human and elf are labels. Tasha's firmly sure everyone can be just as blind, just as prejudiced, no matter the race they hide behind.

* * *

**xiv.**

"Momma, are you proud of me?"

Tasha looks at her little boy, his soft blue eyes of his father, her own dark hair and himself, staring underneath it all. A soul all of his own. A person all new and made by her own hands. He is better than her, than Teagan, than Alistair. He and his brother are innocence and the future, the bright spots of light in her existence.

There are no words to describe how much pride she holds in them.

"Of course, sweetling."

* * *

**xv.**

Once Alistair informed her of what it meant to be a Warden, Tasha _hated_ Duncan.

* * *

**xvi.**

The balcony is cold, just as the Castle and the mountain itself.

"You do know it's winter."

Teagan is covered in one of his many furs, almost comically so.

She breathes deeply, feeling as the cold harsh air of the mountain dries her throat mercilessly.

"And what you're wearing isn't nearly enough to keep you from freezing to death, Warden or not," he continues.

Tasha smiles. "I've seen you swimming while raining."

"So we're both insane."

"So it seems."

* * *

**xvii.**

Clarel is a good Warden. An amazing Warden-Commander, even, the sort Tasha would admire easily if she was barely five years younger. They stand on opposite sides of a table and the Commander is requesting her aid for some task or another and the way she denies telling her directly what this task is brings a shiver of dread to her spine.

"I'm afraid I'm currently undertaking my own task, Commander."

The next day, she writes to Loghain. Four words which will make sense to no one else. He will understand.

_Do not follow her._

* * *

**xviii.**

The caravan is overrun by darkspawn when the small group approaches. What few remain alive, the taint is so far gone that no Archdemon blood will keep them breathing. It's unfair and wrong, just like everything else in the Deep Roads but it is what it is. No amount of claiming it to be unfair will change it.

The elf lowers to the first dying man and ignores the slight gasp behind her as she slides her dagger through the grey skin. Clean and efficient. Her wardens, without a comment, move to imitate her.

Sometimes, Tasha's a murderer. It is what it is.

* * *

**xix.**

When someone calls her Lady Guerrin, Tasha still looks around for another person.

When someone calls her hero, Tasha fights not to roll her eyes.

When someone calls her Commander, Tasha nods.

When someone calls her Tasha, she's home.

* * *

**xx.**

And time passes, Tasha finds herself over thirty, which is amazing, a good amount of years still to come, a child gripping her leg, a sword by the dresser and a life that that elf in the Alienage would have never ever dreamt in her wildest fantasies.

_It is so much better than you could have ever thought, Tasha_, she whispers to that girl locked between the walls of the Alienage._ Just hold on one more day._

**xxxXXXxxx**


	2. The Champion

**X**

_Lord Gerard Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall_

**xxxXXXxxxx**

**i.**

He loves his father unconditionally. It is why he still carries the man's staff even though he could have gotten a better one the second he was made Champion. Every time he grips its surface, he's back in Lothering, magic underneath his fingertips and his father's proud smile staring down at him.

He loved his mother unconditionally. Up until the point when she threw the weight of his sister's death onto his shoulders.

He could never forgive her for that.

* * *

**ii.**

Gerard adores Kirkwall. It's dark, confusing, traces of dirt and grime and filth given form and stacked in a ridiculous attempt to reach the sky. Reminds him a lot of himself.

* * *

**iii.**

"Smile, brother. You're too serious all the time. Will the world fall if you grin?"

Gerard places his arm around Bethany's waist, finding her shoulder a perfectly acceptable place to rest his head.

"You want me to give Carver another reason to complain? For shame, Bethy."

* * *

**iv.**

"Enough. I'm tired of your rants against mages. I'm not an exception. I'm not better than any of them. I'm _just_ like them. And push me against a wall and I'll react in the exact same way they all do, fucking kicking and biting until you get the fuck away. So shut the fuck up or I'm dropping Danarius your location on a map with a bow on top."

* * *

**v.**

Gerard won't confess it to anyone but the moment he faced the Arishok was the most frightening of his whole life. He stands in front of the hulk of a man, feeling very small in his mortal shell, barely armed with his magic and feels about to fall over.

Behind him, his friends wait. Outside, mages and Templars still fight. It is like it has always been during his life. He either fights or he dies.

The lack of choice helps.

* * *

**vi.**

His heart doesn't quite break when Carver takes his place as a Templar. He just stares at the other man in silence. How can he put into words the fact that he feels betrayed, that having a brother becoming what they have tried to escape all their lives is horrible, that there is something at the bottom of his stomach that churns and spats, making him want to throw up all he has eaten that day?

"Won't you say anything?" Carver asks, almost violently.

There are no words which can describe this feeling. Therefore, Gerard says nothing.

* * *

**vii.**

When Fenris pushes him against a wall, Gerard doesn't kick him.

Bites, however, are fair game.

* * *

**vii.**

His Amell cousin appears out of nowhere in his life; all of her life, joy, boundless energy and a dry wit that she uses almost constantly. Gerard is ready to push her out of his life immediately. In his experience, family tends to give him far more grief than anyone should have to deal with and he has no reason to add more trouble to that pile. So he truly didn't understand how he ended up accepting her hugs instead of fending them off, accepting her caresses instead of taking a turn when she came closer.

She's starved for affection, he eventually realizes, and so is he.

"We'll see each other soon," Diana murmurs into his ear, fingers digging into his back, blond hair tickling his cheek gently. "Don't forget to drop by."

She smiles before the Gallows swallow her whole, as it does every day he visits.

He'll burn them to the ground, Gerard decides absently. As soon as he holds the power to, Meredith be damned.

* * *

**viii.**

Meredith is an idiot. One encounter with an out-of-control mage and the woman turns into a fanatical bully. Orsino is another idiot. So focused in his own troubles that he sees nothing else, not even logic when it's right in front of him. And Maker help him, he won't analyze the viscount because the amount of idiocy in that man is only comparable to the amount of fear.

Killing them all might be better in the long run, he knows. If he didn't hate power so much, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

* * *

**ix.**

"Did that person ask if you were my illegitimate son?"

"You could try not to sound so amused, Hawke."

"Of course, my boy."

"I'm tempted to remove your heart."

"I'm very sure that classifies as familial abuse."

* * *

**x.**

Merril avoids him for, at least, two weeks after his mother dies and the mage knows exactly why. She might be naïve and silly but her heart is large and her compassion much greater than his. When she does show, afraid that he'll throw her out at any moment, Gerard touches her cheek and gives her what, for everyone else, is a rare smile.

He can't blame her. He's too busy blaming himself.

**xi.**

"If you try to touch Varric again, Seeker, I might see it as a threat."

Varric, who is his oldest friend. Varric, who stayed with him through everything; the Deep Roads, the invasion, the Gallows, even as he killed someone who had been one of their own. Varric, who once they left, promised to keep his secret and have his back still. Rage isn't a word strong enough to describe that he feels.

Cassandra's glare shifts to him and Hawke knows exactly what she's going to say before she speaks.

"I wouldn't have helped you," he states with undeniable certainty. "Last time I tried, it didn't end up that well. I'm not eager to try out my hand in power plays again."

* * *

**xii.**

The call is intoxicating. It's the problem with blood magic. It sweeps in, it tempts, it lays right on the other side of the curtain and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. The amount of magic filling the room is so large, the Champion feels like his body is absorbing it through his skin, never mind his frail attempts to remain calm and aloof.

Gerard was taught by Malcolm Hawke. The day he accepts the strength of a demon and disappoints his father will be the day he will throw himself off the tallest fucking tower he can find.

Twice.

* * *

**xiii.**

"You won't fight for your kind. I had to force your hand! I had to make you see!"

Where is Anders? Even though Gerard had only known the man when already carrying Justice, once upon a time, he had been a good man. A friend, even. A comrade, definitely. Now, all he could see was the demon who had once been a spirit. That, more than anything, made him grieve for the man he had known.

"I can do it for you, Hawke," Fenris whispers behind him. "It's fine."

It would be, if he was a coward. Gerard stares down at his dagger, the small blade which was once a gift from his brother and makes his choice. He's not killing Anders. He's killing Vengeance. And _that_ is justice. The weapon shifts in his hand until the handle is firmly between his fingers.

Well. That makes it just fine, doesn't it?

* * *

**xiv.**

"You know, Hawke," Varric calls out, relaxing against his chair with a tankard of ale big enough for five men. "I have never seen you drunk! What's up with that?"

The Templar snickers under his breath.

"That's becau—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Carver."

"The last time we got him drunk," Carver continues as if he heard nothing. "He went out for a swim at night and froze himself inside the lake."

The silence that falls is only broken by the usually uncommonly serious man banging his head against the tavern's table.

* * *

**xv.**

His whole life, he has kept people safe. It's stronger than him, so ingrained in his blood and bones that the mage cannot avoid it even if he tried. Several of the people Gerard fought to protect are dead and that only drives him further, blindly so. It is why he leaves Fenris behind to answer Varric's urgent call for aid.

And the Inquisitor is still speaking when the Champion smiles widely before walking (_running_) in the vague direction of the main gate.

Fenris never did like being told what to do.

* * *

**xvi.**

"Go! You're needed!" Stroud screams over the demon's shrieks. "I can handle it."

"What are you waiting for?" And that's the Inquisitor's voice, demanding, pushy and undeniably authoritarian.

But, in the end, it's Varric's voice which pushes him forward and out of the Fade.

_Don't you dare give them anything else, Hawke._

* * *

**xvii.**

Lothering is dead and buried for Gerard. Even when the reconstruction begins, he will never return or even contact possible survivors. When the mage rebellion is over though, he makes his way into Kirkwall and to his family home, paying no attention to possible threats or any attempts to restrict his movements.

Criminality rates drop almost immediately.

Gerard tries not to feel too amused when Aveline is found sulking.

* * *

**xviii.**

Hawke has no children of his own, obviously. Fenris is everything he wishes and no woman could ever replace his white-haired partner. But there is a little hesitation when he thinks the Hawke name might end with him, like his family never existed and their story should not be repeated. He carefully mentions the idea to Fenris. Carefully because the elf is still skittish, even after all those years, and some situations are sure to trigger hasty and (sometimes) disagreeable responses.

"How many have you adopted so far?" Is the question Carver invariably asks every time he visits, even as he tugs his own girl along through the group yelling for their uncle.

Gerard smiles from his chair before touching one finger to his lips. The child resting against him doesn't bother to stir.

"This one's Bethany," he whispers.

* * *

**xix.**

"Why won't you take the place as Viscount, Hawke? You'd do a good job. No one knows this city as you do!" It probably pains Aveline to say such things, as proud as she is of the work she tries to do.

"I'm retired."

"You're barely over forty!"

"And still retired," Gerard underlines. Considering they have had this conversation dozens of times, it's truly a wonder she hasn't gotten the point yet.

"So are you going to continue to catch mercenaries and bandits for a living?"

"You wouldn't believe how much they carry in their pockets. I won't have to do actual work for a while."

* * *

**xx.**

The day he finds a white hair in his mass of black hair, Hawke doesn't panic. He stares at the silvery surface in front of him with wide eyes, noting every wrinkle, every trace of courser skin, every signal that time has passed and he has survived through it all.

_Hello, father. _

Gerard smiles widely, as the older man did so often, and slips away. He has a couple of little mages to teach downstairs.

**xxxXXXxxx**

_Author's note - Amell cousin is a reference to The Laughing Wall. _


	3. The Inquisitor

_Inquisitor Marina Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste_

**i. **

Her father sends her to Ferelden. No explanations, no requests, no nothing. Just get up, get dressed, get packed, get on the road.

Marina knows why. Her older brother is stuck in the middle of the mage-Templar war and they need to do their part to keep him safe. And she does love him, as much as her body can handle, but she's from Ostwick, tired of war and confusion, very much ready to just relax and enjoy the first years of her marriage without her father kicking her out of her own house and across a continent to help out his favored child.

Yes. There are still hurt feelings involved.

* * *

**ii.**

_Run. Run. Don't dare to stop._ Fear, she's so afraid she can't breathe. _Run. _The spirit is in front of her, always in front and Marina runs, runs until her legs burn with acid. _Don't stop. Don't stop. Do you want to die here_? No, she doesn't want to die. She wants to go back to the Free Marches, she wants her husband and her parents, the large castle, the tall mountains _run, girl _and the murmurs of the crowds as they fill the streets below and she's so scared _he's coming _and he's coming right behind her, for her, for them.

_There you are,_ the glowing figure extends a hand,_ almost there._

Marina reaches the peak and the shining portal. Another moment, timeless, before she's able to cross it.

And then.

Nothing.

* * *

**iii.**

"I didn't do a thing, Seeker."

"You just said you can't remember what happened."

"I know me. When you kill someone, you use a blade and you look into their eyes. You don't blow them up like a coward. And I would never be stupid enough to do so and stay in the bomb's range."

She understands she should have censored the second part when Cassandra glares with extra fervor.

* * *

**iv.**

The comments are hard not to notice. You don't belong here. You are not one of us. You are odd.

To wish Marina replies even when no one wishes her to. _No, I don't, no, I'm not and yes, yes, I am. So what? You asked me to stay_, all topped with the smile her father hates the most.

"Doesn't anything rattle you?" Leliana asks her in one of rare moments of curiosity.

"Badly healed joint in my left leg," the Herald answers swiftly. "Rattles like a she-dog when it's cold."

**v.**

Marina is not the Herald of Andraste. A Herald has to know _something_ in order to herald _anything_ and her complete and total lack of knowledge proves she's nothing more than Marina Trevelyan, warrior and professional busybody extraordinaire. Andraste is not incompetent enough to choose someone and not give it a clear and distinct message to transmit. This pleases her greatly.

Can you imagine the weight of being a sacred being's Herald? She's fine being a normal little human, thank you very much.

* * *

**vi.**

The Herald considers terribly not helping the mages. When you dig a hole that deep, you deserve to climb your way out of it.

* * *

**vii.**

"Aren't you afraid of the big bad Tevinter mage?" Dorian asks her randomly as they are struggling through the windy coast. Unlike Solas and Cole, both warrior and mage get bored by silence.

"I might be afraid my husband ends up thinking I go everywhere with good looking males." Marina waves absently around her. "That drives wedges on a marriage."

She's rewarded with Dorian's laughter.

"I'm more likely to pounce on him than you."

"Then I'm more likely to smack you than be afraid."

* * *

**vii.**

Corypheous doesn't scare her. She's lived enough to see deluded fools gunning for power and being tainted doesn't make him any less common.

* * *

**viii.**

Marina didn't like Haven much. A shroud of mourning enveloped the mountain, whispered through every corner where she walked. But Skyhold? Skyhold is a castle of mysteries, brimming with history in every corner, touched with magic in every stone. The Herald loves it from the first moment she crosses the threshold.

It helps that it's the first real roof over her head since she left Ostwick.

* * *

**ix.**

"You're telling me to muffle up. You are."

"You are a smart man, Bull. I expect you to be able to understand me quite clearly."

"I'm a Qunari, boss."

"I'm a human who's leading you into a snowy mountain. Bundle up or I'm taking Blackwall instead."

He stares at her.

She taps her foot.

He raises an eyebrow.

She gives him a look he only remembers from his years as a child.

He bundles up.

Inquisitor: 1; Mercenary: 0.

* * *

**x.**

The Commander is easy on the eyes. If she wasn't a married woman (happily so, mind you!), she would definitely allow her thoughts to stray.

Besides, his mage seems incredibly possessive.

* * *

**xi.**

The first time Sera rants her many many theories about elves, their religion or noble families, the Inquisitor tugs her ear. The second earns her a strong slap upside the head. The third… Well.

"I'm on what?"

"Time out," Marina replies as she begins to walk away. "Eyes on the wall. Varric, you get to use her for target practice if she moves."

Sera obviously think Marina is joking. The first dagger thrown through the air shows the elf that she's clearly not. Bianca's following bolt underlines that fact in clear red ink.

_Good Maker, does she forget I'm from those degenerate families she keeps ranting against? Sheesh._

* * *

**xii.**

The Empress is not used to being stared down, it seems. For the first time since her growth spurt, Marina is happy she is built like an oak. It's bad enough that the woman is beautiful as a porcelain doll. Being able to look down at her would make the Inquisitor feel childishly violent and place someone else on the throne.

Priorities. She has them.

* * *

**xiii.**

"Inquisitor?" Solas finds Marina kneeling by a tree, one hand resting against the bark as emerald leaves fall all around them. "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

When she turns to her caller, Solas can see tears sliding down slowly on her cheeks. A small laugh escapes her mouth before she rubs her face to clear the water away.

"Sorry," she says, standing up. "Couldn't help but think the end of the Dales is a horribly sad story. People are so silly, aren't they?"

* * *

**xiv.**

The Well whispers to her, slow songs in numerous voices. Beauty and sadness, anger and hatred, memories without beginning or end, tears, happiness, smiles, hugs, nostalgia. The closer she is, the louder she hears them and the most certain she is that this is not for her.

* * *

**xv.**

"Marina!"

The Inquisitor freezes by the entrance, eyes widely open, lips forming a neat little 'o', surprise all over her expression. "Howell?" The group has time to see the black haired woman smile a delighted little grin before she runs towards the main gate and the man who waits for her.

Cassandra might think she won't find her way home after the death of the monster. Howell believes there's no real reason for her home not to find her. His arms engulf her like the warmest blanket she has ever touched.

"I don't want to leave," she says, instead of an actual greeting.

His laughter rolls over his skin and into hers.

"You should convince me to stay."

That is a task that takes over thirty years to complete.

* * *

**xvi.**

"We are not keeping the dragon!"

"Why not?"

"It's a tainted dragon. It tried to eat us."

"We kept the Wardens."

"And, unless the financials are wrong, we have yet to feed them human flesh, Inquisitor."

The Seeker stalks away, looking incredibly ruffled for someone who will become the Divine in the following year.

"You know, I think she actually believes you when you say those things," Varric comments.

Marina's smile is on the edge of full blown laughter. "And ain't that fun?"

* * *

**xvii.**

The Inquisitor has hope in both the future and the people she guides. Foolishly so, her advisors mutter when they think she's not listening.

Hope is fine, she thinks. Leaving them alone for long when they undoubtedly will cause trouble is not.

* * *

**xviii.**

The new Circle isn't special. Marina has entered it several times during construction and it's just a tower, well furnished, well provided but simple.

What it lacks, however, is metal bars in every corner and that makes all the difference.

* * *

**xix.**

"Marina! You have correspondence from Ostwick."

The warrior nods distractedly, running past like all the demons of the Fade are right at her heels. A normal day, it seems. Josephine shakes her head in amusement. Marina might be older than her and act like it but sometimes, she's just like a child running behind on schedule.

"You don't address her by her title?" Lady Anaxas looked positively perplexed.

The Ambassador actually scoffs at that. "After seeing her stumbling through the halls, struggling to put her armor in the right places, you wouldn't either."

* * *

**xx. **

Marina sits on her bed, staring through the nearby window at the white mountains. The snow lightly falling from the skies give the touch of something new, something peaceful to the environment. It is a mirage; nothing can be completely peaceful when standing firmly in the middle of so many arguing factions.

It's hard to explain why she likes it so. To be in the eye of the hurricane, standing on her own two feet with a hand strongly grasping her sword, head raised tall and proud. Here, people trust her. Here, she is the Inquisitor and not the second daughter who married beneath her. Here, she is the Herald and Marina and a guide and friend, someone with no doubts about who and what she is.

That is so nice.

"Alright!" She claps her hands twice. "Time to go to work."

The mound of blankets by her side moves sluggishly.

"Maybe more silently, love," it grumbles.

* * *

**xxxXXXxxx**


	4. The Lord Cousland

_Author's note – this chapter is based on a parody-character. Alternate Warden. _

**X**

_Lord Aedan Cousland, Warden-Commander of the Grey of Ferelden and Arl of Amaranthine_

**xxxXXXxxx**

**i. **

If there is one thing Aedan has learned with the Blight is that people are often comfortable in their commodity, relaxed in their own little world, with their little wishes and sins and not even explosions on their doorstep push them into being useful.

He also learned a good sword and veiled threats work awesomely to get people moving.

Learn with him, kids.

**ii.**

"You are not going to marry the miller's daughter, Aedan Cousland!"

"Why not?"

"For one, she's thirty years older than you. For another, she's married and pregnant! No."

"You never let me do anything!"

Bryce looks inside the room, stares at the scene for a moment and then, deliberately, turns tail and flees.

Eleanor frowns. _Coward._

**iii.**

Fergus is all Aedan wishes to be when he's younger. He's strong, fast, just and dutiful. He's good looking, managed to get one amazing woman without even trying (all the while evading a good crowd of other eligible ladies without them managing to cut any piece of him) and, overall, the best warrior he has ever seen.

He doesn't see the rest until he's older.

Fergus is going to be the next Lord Cousland of Highever. He's strong because his people are looking. He's just because ninety-nine percent of the rest of the world isn't and someone has to stand while others kneel. He's dutiful because duty was hammered into his very bones since a child for years to no end.

As Aedan relaxes into his place in the world as second son, he looks at his brother and swears to never treat him as anything else than his amazing brother.

**iv.**

He glares at the two women like he once glared at the man who insulted his father in the tavern. To the man who said his mother's place was certainly not with a sword on her hand. To the girl who said Fergus would never amount to anything more than a puppet ruler.

"Lord Aedan?"

Oriana is afraid, he knows; she's not sure of what she's doing, dropped at she was in this corner of the world. Hearing these two chickens clucking about her like she's some sort of stray dog, isn't going to make her feel better. And Aedan might not know her but this is the woman chosen for his brother, the one who will make Fergus happy. His sister. A part of his family.

Family is everything to him.

"It's Aedan," he replies with a smile, dropping the glare in an instance. "Or brother. Come to think of it, brother's better. I always wanted a kind sibling."

**v.**

Aedan punches Duncan when he suggests leaving his parents behind to bleed to death. His dagger is between his fingers before the Warden-Commander can try to repeat the offer and the older man understands that he will only leave that room if the remaining Cousland family does as well.

"You will be a Warden," he declares to Aedan.

"Only if they get out alive." The warrior grinds his teeth as he settles his father onto his back. "And if they don't, you won't either."

**vi.**

Aedan Cousland is hardly a coward. He enjoys his own wellbeing and that includes not being killed because Cailan forgot he is playing his games with real live people instead of his toys. In that moment, he prays fervently that someone keeps the King unconscious until the battle is over or he will kill them all.

**vii.**

_Don't drink it, this is a bad idea, don't do it, Cousland._

His parents are alive and this is the price he offered.

The dark blood is pushed through his lips.

**viii.**

When Aedan meets Morrigan, he likes her immediately. She has a way to despise him that's oddly reassuring and honest, the way she raises her little nose and stares up at him before proceeding to tell him he's the less intelligent being this side of the ocean. It's refreshing since most people remember he is a Lord and swallow their insults.

"Stop staring at my breasts, Warden."

"In my defense, they're staring right back at me."

There's also that, yes.

**ix.**

"Dear Maker, Dane. You're a better leader than Alistair and you don't have opposable thumbs!" Aedan murmurs in vaguely disguised horror.

His mabari rests his head against his legs in commiseration.

**x.**

Isolde is used for fuel for the spell that will save her kid, the Tower is clear of abominations with an efficiency bordering on ruthless and the werewolves get turned into humans as soon as Aedan can convince the elvhen leader to fall into his own sword, so to speak. The dwarves receive a long bout of Aedan laughing when they suggest him to lose his time traipsing over the deep roads in search for someone who's likely dead.

And when all of this is done, the Warden-Commander rallies all the Redcliffe soldiers, both Templars and mages because it's a bloody Blight and they won't have anything to study or guard if the country goes up in flames and drags the newly transformed humans into a foundry to get sharp blades.

There's a dragon gunning for their heads. They can do their power plays when he's not about to get killed.

**xi.**

"I am not playing the Landsmeet."

"How do you think you'll manage to have the Crown's support, Cousland?"

The pretense of Eamon respecting him had gone out the window the second he understood that the second Cousland son simply wouldn't play his games. Frankly, they were dead boring.

"Simple, you," the following words start with an 'o', end with a 'd' and rhyme with 'old bastard'. "I am going to ignore you all exist, going to talk with Loghain, tell him I couldn't care less about the bloody throne and tell him I'm going south to kills spawn. Cheers."

"You won't have your revenge," Eamon slides in as a last resort.

"Of course I will," he declares with a smirk so pronounced that a blind deaf man lacking half his proper mind would be able to see it. "I believe in not wasting my time, you see."

That's why Zevran's staying behind to slit Howe's throat as he sleeps, after all.

**xii.**

"I'll be the one to take the last blow."

Riordan stares at the two younger wardens firmly, almost expecting any possible rebuttal to his statement. The Cousland boy smiles, a smile that is a little twisted and reminds him of the black haired woman that follows him around.

"What?" Aedan comments. "Are you expecting me to argue? I _like_ living."

**xiii.**

Aedan Cousland doesn't have commitment issues. He just prefers to keep well away from anything connected to marriage and being a proper husband. Morrigan follows that discovery with a pointed 'who would want to marry you, anyway?' and Aedan swears there and then there is no other woman for him.

When he tells so to Eleanor, she retorts, in no uncertain terms, that his issues are immense and certainly not from her side of the family.

**xiv.**

As he faces Urthemiel, Aedan realizes he could have killed Duncan with his bare hands.

**xv.**

"_You_ are the Warden Commander?" Nathaniel yells from his cell. "You? Who had that stupid idea! You spent your teen years sleeping in the middle of wheat fields because doing anything else other than sleeping was _boring_ and _hard work_."

"I'm also your boss from now on," Aedan confirms. "Surprise."

**xvi.**

When he reenters Highever, it is with his arm over his father's shoulders and his hand clasping his brother's.

**xvii.**

"I hate you."

It is the very first thing Alistair tells him once Fergus makes his way to Denerim as the Lord of Amaranthine.

"I'd hate me too if I was married to Anora," the Warden states bluntly. "You'd know that no one would mind that you, at any point, would have strapped on a pair and tell the world you didn't want to do any of this. Fergus would have made a good king."

Alistair straps on a pair and tries to punch him.

Aedan neatly sidesteps and trips him into his Chancellor.

**xviii.**

She didn't call him Duncan. She didn't call him Bryce.

Thank the Maker.

He has his own dark hair with a skin so pale it makes his look like someone handwashed him against volcanic rock. The eyes are Morrigan but the structure is all his and his brother's and father's and he feels like hugging this kid who is so like poor Oren. Who is so like himself.

"You're my father." Those lovely eyes narrow a little. "Mother says you are weird."

Aedan nods seriously. "Your mother is very right. She's also addicted to weird."

There's a pause. There's an abyss between him and this kid who he should have been able to see grow, to hear cry, to caress and hold and look after. Aedan kneels in front of him, not even bothering to hide his tears.

"Did you want to meet me?" Kieran asks. Funny. The Commander can almost swear to hear his heart breaking. He swallows tightly before whispering a yes, strangled and almost muted.

His son grins, taking over the Commander's heart with a hold not even the Archdemon would be able to break.

**xix.**

"You are not taking the Calling."

"I am not taking the Calling. You will keep me in an attic and feed me pieces of meat through a hole and purify the taint every now and then with the blood of innocents and virgins."

Morrigan's face comes closer in the darkness, her hands gripping his hair and a ferocity in her gaze which spelled death for many a man.

"You are not taking the Calling," she repeats. "I won't ever let you."

Aedan kisses her. There's no other way he can say thank you over and over again.

**xx. **

"We need you to rebuild the order. Again." The Commander waves the letter from Weishaupt with one hand, rolling his eyes skyward. "Only with more flowery language than anyone would ever need. Seriously. Do they know I'm on the fifteenth year here? It's not like I can keep rebuilding stuff from scratch! That's hard work."

"Aedan," murmurs Nathaniel' long suffering voice. "You love being the Commander."

"_Without a raise!_ Seriously, hard work without being paid properly is just stupid. How about couple dozen more sovereigns per hour? I could do much with that."

He makes a pause, looking at his people, the ones who have kept by him through all those years, through magic and deceit, through flame and blood. A long look tempered by a half-smile. This is his place, after all, and this is also his family.

"Who's up for a little more work?"


End file.
